


Little Liar

by Liitohauki



Series: Lost and Loved [8]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Animal Death, Gen, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Jötunn Loki, raised on Jötunheim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3733225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liitohauki/pseuds/Liitohauki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki goes hunting in the Ironwoods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Liar

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this one's really self-indulgent. I mean, these are all self-indulgent, but this one is really, really self-indulgent: I have a rather large spot in my heart for Kalevalaic poetry, and have wanted to incorporate some Finnish spell-songs into the verse basically since I first thought of this witch!Loki.
> 
> The song Loki sings is based on an old hunting song meant to trap squirrels to their boughs. Take note: the way I write the spell working is not the way it was supposed to work. I am bastardizing Finnish spell-song traditions. Shame on me. Three of the lines (the first two lines, slightly modified to fit the story, and the fourteenth line) are from the original song while the rest I made up.
> 
> If you hover the cursor over the Finnish text, an English translation should pop up. Also, if anyone has difficulty reading the hover text or would like to read it all in one piece, there's an English translation of the song in the end notes.

_"Naaltiainen, värtäjäinen,”_

She sings, creeping across the forest floor while keeping a watchful eye on the boughs above.

The leather sling in her hand goes round and round in slow, idle circles. At her hip, she has a pouch of pellets carved from ironwood. The sling whines and the pellets click and her feet are silent as she sings.

_”metsän valkia vasanen,”_

Her tone is slow and measured. There comes a rustle from far above. Something white darts across the canopy. The branches there are so high up they’re still laden with snow, unaffected by the heat and humidity at the root of the trees.

_“oksan kiipiä komia,_

_orren oiva omistaja,”_

Loki croons, sweet and low, endearments dripping from her lips like blood. The sling in her hand goes _whip-whip-whip_ in counterpoint.

_“korven kallis kapuaja,_

_rungon armas rouskuttaja,”_

Flattery flows from her tongue in a steady stream; her words loop around, round and round, a never-ending river of loving description. There’s another rustle of crystal leaves. A white head pokes from the pile of snow atop one branch, pointy black nose twitch-twitch-twitching.

_“laske luokse latvasesta,_

_hiivi hongan kätkösestä.”_

Her voice rises higher in entreaty, calling to the naalta: climb down from your nest, creep from the tree’s crown, come down and greet me! It heeds her, leaping to a lower bough where it stretches out long and lithe, content to stare at Loki from on high.

_“Kerjuri on kutsumassa,”_

She is a beggar, she disparages herself: a poor and lowly beggar, come to seek an animal so high and fair. The naalta dares descend further, creeping with pity to the very lowest branches.

_“lapsi lunta viskoomassa,”_

She is a child; her weapons are harmless. The naalta sinks its claws into the trunk of the tree, _scit-scit-scittering_ yet farther to see who it hears.

_“veitikka vaeltamassa,”_

She is a child; she is lost in these woods. The naalta perks up at the prospect of an easy meal. Closer and closer it comes, claws _scritch-scritch-scritching_ on hard wood.

_”nalliainen naukumassa.”_

She is a child; her words are naught but helpless mewling. The naalta moves with greater haste, confident now that it cannot be harmed by such a lowly creature as what waits beneath it.

The pellets in her pouch go _klik-klik-klik_. Loki readies her sling.

_”Hehkukaarnat, hohtolehdet,”_

Careful now, careful, slow and calm. A nearby tree glows, bidding her hurry lest her quarry be frightened off by a hiss of steam. The sling goes round and round in smooth circles.

_”ei ne tietä kannattane,”_

A prediction, a wish, a warning. The naalta stops, troubled. It can finally sense that something’s wrong. It chitters its distress, tail standing erect and alert. Awareness comes too late, too late; Loki releases the sling.

_“tai tän lapsen lingolta lunasta.”_

The pellet goes flying. It strikes the naalta off its perch on the bark, sending it tumbling down into the moss below. Its body is a white streak of snow; falling, falling, fallen. She runs to her catch. The pellets in her pouch go _klik-klik-klik_.

Not dead, not dead; the naalta twists and turns, teeth bared. Its spine goes _snap_ under her heel.

_“Naaltiainen, värtäjäinen,”_

She sings, blade winking in the shine of the forest. The boughs above are silent.

_“pesäs puinen, kätkös ylhä,”_

Her tone is light and playful. The naalta’s skin goes _rip-rip-rip_ as her knife plunges in. Its guts spill out in long loops; they go round and round as she spins them like thread onto a spool of bone.

Her sling is silent and her pouch is silent and her hands are busy as she sings.

_“ei miun puukolta pelasta.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Finnish to English:
> 
> Little naalta, little trickster,  
> white calf of the forest,  
> handsome handler of branches,  
> canny master of boughs,  
> graceful climber of the grove,  
> beloved biter of bark,  
> descend from the canopy,  
> creep from your cradle of wood.  
> A beggar has come calling,  
> a child to throw snow,  
> a rascal come roaming,  
> a youngling to yowl.  
> The glowing rind, the shining leaves,  
> they won’t carry you long,  
> or shield you from this child’s sling.
> 
> Little naalta, little trickster,  
> your nest in the woods, your high haven,  
> won’t save you from my knife.
> 
> "Naalta" is a made-up animal. The name comes from the words "nalli" (arctic fox) and "näätä" (pine marten). Just picture an arctic fox-pine marten-flying squirrel mash up.


End file.
